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 2016   

 2016  ..




 


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  (15721631)






      .  ,     .       .     .      ,    ,     .   90-           . ,         .  ,        .          (1596)     (1597).   90-        , -       I.   ,        .  1601.    .       .   1601.      ,  -.              .

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Holy Sonnet I


		Tho has made me, and shall thy work decay?
		Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste;
		I run to death, and death meets me as fast,
		And all my pleasures are like yesterday.
		I dare not move my dim eyes any way,
		Despair behind, and death before doth cast
		Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste
		By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh.
		Only thou art above, and when towards thee
		By thy leave I can look, I rise again;
		But our old subtle foe so tempteth me
		That not one hour myself I can sustain.
		Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art,
		And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.




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Holy Sonnet 2


		As due by many titles I resign
		My self to Thee, O God; first I was made
		By Thee, and for Thee, and when I was decayed
		Thy blood bought that, the which before was Thine;
		I am Thy son, made with Thy Self to shine,
		Thy servant, whose pains Thou hast still repaid,
		Thy sheep, thine image, and, till I betrayed
		My self, a temple of Thy Spirit divine;
		Why doth the devil then usurp on me?
		Why doth he steal, nay ravish thats thy right?
		Except thou rise and for thine own work fight,
		Oh I shall soon despair, when I do see
		That thou lovst mankind well, yet wilt not choose me,
		And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me.




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Holy Sonnet 3


		O might those sighs and tears return again
		Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,
		That I might in this holy discontent
		Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain;
		In mine Idolatry what showers of rain
		Mine eyes did waste! what griefs my heart did rent!
		That sufferance was my sin; now I repent;
		Cause I did suffer I must suffer pain.
		Th hydropic drunkard, and night-scouting thief,
		The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud
		Have the remembrance of past joys for relief
		Of comming ills. To (poor) me is allowed
		No ease; for long, yet vehement grief hath been
		Th effect and cause, the punishment and sin.




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Holy Sonnet 4


		Oh my black soul! Now art thou summoned
		By sickness, deaths herald, and champion;
		Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
		Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled;
		Or like a thief, which till deaths doom be read,
		Wisheth himself delivered from prison,
		But damned and haled to execution,
		Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned.
		Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack;
		But who shall give thee that grace to begin?
		Oh make thy self with holy mourning black,
		And red with blushing, as thou art with sin;
		Or wash thee in Christs blood, which hath this might
		That being red, it dyes red souls to white.




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Holy Sonnet 5


		I am a little world made cunningly
		Of elements and an angelic sprite,
		But black sin hath betrayd to endless night
		My worlds both parts, and oh both parts must die.
		You which beyond that heaven which was most high
		Have found new spheres, and of new lands can write,
		Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might
		Drown my world with my weeping earnestly,
		Or wash it, if it must be drownd no more.
		But oh it must be burnt; alas the fire
		Of lust and envy have burnt it heretofore,
		And made it fouler; let their flames retire,
		And burn me O Lord, with a fiery zeal
		Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal.




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Holy Sonnet 6


		This is my plays last scene; here heavens appoint
		My pilgrimages last mile; and my race,
		Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace,
		My spans last inch, my minutes latest point;
		And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint
		My body and my soul, and I shall sleep a space;
		But myever-waking part shall see that face
		Whose fear already shakes my every joint.
		Then, as my soul toheaven, her first seat, takes flight,
		And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell,
		So fall my sins, that all may have their right,
		To where theyare bred, and would press me, to hell.
		Impute me righteous, thus purgd of evil,
		For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.




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Holy Sonnet 7


		At the round earths imagined corners, blow
		Your trumpets, Angels, and arise, arise
		From death, you numberless infinities
		Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go,
		All whom the flood did, and fire shall oerthrow,
		All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies,
		Despair, law, chance, hath slain, and you whose eyes,
		Shall behold God, and never taste deaths woe.
		But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space,
		For, if above all these, my sins abound,
		Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace,




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